Mortal Lives Burn so Quick and Hot
by Tiktok
Summary: A familiar begining to a story that I hope will be just a little different. Rated for later mature situations and possible violence.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Jim Henson Productions or the Labyrinth or Mr. David Bowie's very fine self.

Part One: a familiar begining...

Jareth sprawled in elegant boredom on his throne tapping impatiently on his boot with his long black riding crop. Around him the gnarled, twisted and just fantastic figures of the goblins cavorted in their daily regime of excess and debauchery. A small cheer went up as yet another keg of goblin ale was tapped.

One of the black chickens that infested the place like rats squawked across the room to the accompanying laughter of the small group tormenting her. With a casual flick of the wrist and an idle thought Jareth loosed a marble sized crystal after the bird. She swelled to the alarming size of a large dog, turned, and charged her suddenly now aghast pursuers. Furiously she chased them several times around the room. The chamber exploded with mirth as the few runners took refuge on various narrow ledges around the irregularly shaped audience chamber.

Suddenly Jareth jerked up straight raising his black-gloved hands for silence. A hush surrounded the mercurially tempered king as the goblins immediately fell silent as he bent his head as if to better hear the far away voice speaking. Slowly he stood a frown of concentration on his pale face the voice was far, so very far away, yet closer than your next breath, the voice hesitant and choked as though on a sob whispered, "I wish… I wish the goblins would come and take you away… right now."

Jareth's smile was a sly satisfied smirk as he clapped his hands together.

"Done!" he exclaimed.

Suddenly but for the black-feathered residents the room was empty.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: same as in part one

Part Two:

Perching outside the window, Jareth watched the goblins transport the baby safely away to the castle. At the abrupt silence, the young woman rushed across the one room cottage to the baby's cot only to be confounded and tormented by the goblins skittering to and fro. Just as she was about to reach a peak of panic and fear, Jareth transformed and walked in through the rickety door practically blowing it off its fragile hinges. The zephyr he unleashed on the door whirled around loosing sparks, ash and smoke in a spirally mess from the fireplace that heated and lit the small room. It blew her patched and faded skirt tight against her legs and then billowed it like a sail making her sway on her feet. Finally it snatched the shawl from around her shoulders and tossed it at the king's feet before dashing out the door and slamming it behind him.

Through a sudden silence that could have been cut with a knife, the woman pushed the tangled hair from her face and looked up at the tall fae. She took a step towards him and opened her mouth to address him then crumpled into a heap at his feet almost on top of the shawl lying there.

Jareth blinked and looked down at the small mortal.

"Well… that was different," he commented to the goblins remaining in the room.

He looked around at the shabby interior of the cabin, noting the narrow straw pallet next to the baby's cot. There was a heap of ragged blankets to cover the child and the single holey covering on her own bed. The room under the scattered ash was clean, the plank floor swept and a rug braided of knotted rags in front of the fireplace had a couple hand made toys on it.

Turning his attention to the woman, he noted that she was slender to the point of boniness and her face seemed thinned by fatigue and hunger, her wrists where they emerged from the frayed cuffs of her shirt were as slender as twigs.

"You aren't much of a challenge are you…" Jareth mused.

After a moment's further consideration, he bent and scooped the small figure into his arms. Turning he walked towards the door fading with each step until he and his burden disappeared completely.

Behind him in the dim room the fire in the fireplace shrank and died leaving the discarded shawl in the darkness on the floor. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer same as the first part.

Part Three:

Apon arriving back at his castle, Jareth set the woman down on a bed in a long disused guest chamber. A flick of his wrist had the dust scurrying up the chimney and a pointed glance at the fireplace caused it to leap to life with a crackle. The lamps obedient to the presence of the king lit the chamber with a warm glow giving him a better look at her. She was fair skinned and dark haired. She may have been pretty were she not so worn and thin.

Since she was not awake to object, Jareth stroked a hand in the air over her body removing the ragged clothing. Stripped her figure was sweet though again too thin, the only lush thing about her was her breasts, apple sized and firm with dusky rose nipple that were puckering in the cool air. As she stirred, Jareth with a similar motion clothed her in a long nightdress, clean and pristine, high necked and long sleeved. With a small pop an elegantly carved cradle appeared in the room and within moments a couple of husky goblins carried the cooing child into the room.

Children, at least very small ones, very seldom seemed to be scared of goblins and this one was no exception to the general rule. The goblins put the babe in the bed made for her and with a pat and a grunt scampered out. The child, clean comfortable and warm soon settled and slept. Her mother still stirring slightly was soothed by a softly whispered sleeping charm. Jareth floated a soft blanket over her and soon her breathing deepened and she toppled into the gentle arms of Morpheus.

Jareth settled himself on the chair by the bed and dimmed the lamps glow with a thought. He summoned a crystal as light as a bubble and as set it spinning on his fingertips, then staring into it he began to shape her dreams. He built the acquisition of the child and her own abduction, he let her dream that she woke in the guest suite she was in alone but for a figure looming quietly in the golden light. Then he stopped directing her dream to see what she would do.

Her dream self sat up in the big bed and looked at him carefully, taking him from in his tall black boots and tight breeches to his broad shoulders and exotic hair that was almost the crest of a bird.

"Who are you? Where am I?" she asked. Jareth just gave a not particularly nice smile that was full of sharp teeth.

"You called me. Do you not remember?" he finally answered. His voice was soft in the small chamber and flavoured with a hint of an accent.

"But… what am I doing here?" she wondered out loud. "I was told you would just take the babe…"

"You were not available to complete the bargain," Jareth replied softly, "there are rules that must be followed you know. You must be given a chance to get her back."

The woman's dream image stood and walked over to him looking up into his sharp featured face as if fascinated, staring into his mismatched eyes.

"What have you done to me? I feel so strong and well."

"You dream, Molly Gant. Your dream self is hale and strong."

Molly nodded and in an apparent shift of thought asked,

"You are the king? The Goblin King?"

Jareth merely nodded his face expressionless.

"And you came and took Bridget away?" Again the spare answer of a simple nod.

"I never knew goblins would be so fair."

Jareth looked slightly puzzled as she rose high on her toes and leaned upwards looking into his eyes. Those eyes widened in shocked surprise as she places a hand on his cheek and kissed him softly on the mouth. Her lips burned him, even though it was his spirit walking in her dream. It rocked him to his immortal soul.

"Thank you." She murmured against his lips before he fled from her dreamscape.

As he jerked back into his own body and the fragile dream crystal popped, he could still feel the ghost of her lips against his, burning with a mortal fire.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Jim Henson Productions or the Labyrinth or Mr. David Bowie's very fine self.

Part Four:

Jareth left the room with his usual ground-eating stride. The doors swung silently shut behind him locking themselves in his wake. Taking himself into his private quarters deep with in the castle proper he brooded over what to do with the woman. The challenge for the child could not take place until she woke at the very least. Her poor physical condition would make beating her at even the easiest path through the labyrinth less of a challenge and more a foregone conclusion.

It had been some time since he had had a decent opponent… the boredom of ruling or rather mis-ruling his peculiar subjects was stultifying. They could be herded but not really lead except by fear and their entertainment value was limited to the unsophisticated. Not that Jareth despised unsophisticated amusements; unsophisticated amusement was what got him stuck here in the first place. But gradually carving a haven of sanity in a chaotic world had caused him to treasure every meter of ground stolen from the howling wilderness that surrounded them.

Wild magic was neither good nor bad merely untamed and undirected. The Labyrinth sat like a gate on a dam keeping the chaos from infecting the ordered worlds of the fae and human alike. When he was sent here there was naught but the castle and the maze. The maze directed the flow of magic into the ordered realms forcing it to assume a configuration that wouldn't disrupt the status quo. Every once in awhile a swirl of mischief managed to escape and swept through the sluice and past the gatekeeper to keep things interesting for the ordered spheres. It was one of these that killed the last guardian and brought about Jareth's exile to take his place.

Jareth had been a young fae, in his first hundred years, still inexperienced in the ways of the mortal world. His desire for freedom outstripped his capacity to handle what unrestricted access to the world could show him. But being a willful child he would escape into the great wide world when ever he could do so. One spring day, when the morning had decked the grass with dew and the sun was as gentle as golden wine, Jareth came from under-hill escaping his tutors and caretakers looking for amusement as a arrow seeks a target.

He rode on a great grey stallion and he was dressed in blue riches of silk velvet and fine leather. His face was young and unmarked by the sorrows of a world that could be bitterly unfair. As he rode the wind of his passage lifted the pale blonde hair off his neck and caused it to float in the sweet air. He was beautiful in a fashion, which causes the heart to break in one and seethe with jealousy in another. Unfortunately he was to meet the latter rather than the former.

As he rode, he came on a coach, gilt, polished, and well sprung. He waved in friendly cheer as he passed it and went on to an Inn somewhat down the road where the ale was rich and the wenches friendly. The Inn was somewhat used to the presence of the fae in the area and welcomed the fairy coin which though strange-fashioned was still of natural gold.

Jareth was seated on a bench with a sweet girl on his knee and ale in his hand when the coach pulled into the inn's yard. Stealing a kiss from the woman kept all his attention as the occupant exited the coach and entered the building. When he looked up his face flushed with pleasure and his pale blue eyes sparkling with mischief he found himself being scrutinized by a man garbed in clerical black with a scowl on his unappealing countenance that would frighten all but the bold or reckless. The now scarlet-faced wench slipped off his knee and went to serve the new come customer. With a sniff of distain the priest deigned to accept rabbit pie, fresh crusty bread, and sweet cider for his lunch and took a seat at the table closest to the door and furthest from the other patrons of the inn whom he seemed consider beneath him.

The priest summoned Jareth to him with an impetuous gesture and having obviously taken Jareth for a young nobleman began to immediately castigate him for keeping low company and less scruples. Jareth having escaped one set of tutors was reluctant to be forced to listen to the scathing tongue of the priest and stood to leave. The priest standing as well grabbed his arm in a claw like grip to detain him fully intent on finishing spewing his poisonous flow. Jerking his arm from the man's grip, Jareth, narrowed his eyes and growled impatiently at the man. The man eyes widening suddenly on something he suddenly saw or read in Jareth's face back peddled and fell over his chair his head hit the hard edge of the stone fireplace behind him and cracking it like an egg.

The sparse fellow patrons of the inn who had been watching the exchange went silent in shock as the priest went over backwards and as he failed to rise came to stand in a semi circle around the fallen mortal and the shocked fae. The serving wench shoving through the circle knelt at the priest's side and looked up at him in horror.

"Oh, my lord, you have killed him!"

At once an outcry arose and he was seized by strong hands of the men that surrounded him. In his shock and surprise he failed to use his young magic before he was thrown into the dank stone cellar room of the inn to await the arrival of the magistrate. The fine stallion he had rode in on turned to smoke and a wisp of grass with the onset of the night. Locked away by cold iron and his own still weak magic, he lay in the dirty hole unfound and unfindable by his parents and their worried retainers. After three days in the dark, the wild magic carried on a the wings of a careless zephyr came close enough to be grasped, called by his desperation and his own wild fear. The slender strand of magic wild and untamed threaded it's way into his inky confines and was bright to his fae eyes in the mortal dark. He reached out with both hands, gasping it and pulled.


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five:

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Jim Henson Productions or the Labyrinth or Mr. David Bowie's very fine self.

Jareth Grabbed the glowing wisp with both hands and pulled with all his might. It felt like he was holding a writhing fiery snake. He tried to formulate his desires into a solid command for the untamed energy.

Finally, when he felt he could stand the pain searing his hands no longer, he managed one concrete pleas to the near sentient power: Get me out of here! his mind screamed at it. At that thought the night around him exploded.

Given no real parameters, the wild magic went from a thread to a raging torrent in less time than it takes to blink. The inn that squatted above him shuddered, groaned and then flew from its foundations as if it had been catapulted off its cellar. It shattered itself and everything and one inside it into millions of glittering fragments that fell to earth like snow and melted away.

Jareth was left crouched in the ragged hole stunned but unmercifully conscious. Then a powerful force snatched up the young immortal and threw him high into the air. As Jareth fell his fear caused his tenuous hold on the wild magic to weaken and gleefully it tore itself free from his grasp and began to flood the area with it's eldritch influence.

The land in the immediate vicinity of the now obliterated inn twisted and buckled the earth flowing like warm honey. Power pooled in the ground warping every thing it touched living or no. Small animals caught in the flood became great beasts and winged horrors, the rocks and soil glowed with a preternatural power. Strange plants shot up from normal seedlings and trees began to move scratching long fingered and leafy limbs at the starry skies. Amid this chaotic insanity Jareth fell to earth, his body hit the softened earth and was cradled in its gentle embrace. The wild magic swirled around him bleaching his hair from golden blonde to a silvery white and his skin to porcelain purity. The magic invaded his being and began to twist his body. Suddenly, a figure of a man, gnarled in the fashion of humans or fae of extreme age, appeared over him. As he watched he began to spin, gathering the wild magics to himself and storing them in his body. The man began to glow brighter and brighter, his back arched in pain and mouth open in a keening wail but still he spun on. Just as he grew too bright too look on, he exploded into a fragments of cold fire and disappeared.

Suddenly Jareth was alone in the dark night, silence surrounding him in a thick heavy blanket. The mage seemed to have absorbed all the energy that had been warping the area and except for that which was permanently changed such as Jareth's own appearance, there seemed to be no sign of the incident save the hole where the inn had stood. Jareth tried to rise to his feet, placing his hands flat on the now firm earth to lever himself up. Pain shook his arms as his raw magic seared flesh came in contact with the ground and he fell back. Looking at his hands he saw that the once elegant fingers were raw and burned from holding the wild magic unprotected. As he stared at his hands in shock with a rumbling of hoof beats the Elvin court that had been looking so frantically for so three long days and being drawn by the explosion of power, found the young prince.

Author's Note: If I get no feedback on the story I will assume that none are interested and cease and desist.>>


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Jim Henson Productions or the Labyrinth or Mr. David Bowie's very fine self.

Part Six:

Struggling to his feet, he stood as the horses and hounds of the court surrounded him. His tutor Ganymede threw himself off his mount and ran up to the young fae arriving just in time to catch his crumpling form.

Jareth sighed and shrugged himself out of his contemplative reverie. Turning on his heel he ascended the stair into the throne room. Examining those present he grabbed the least hare-brained of his goblin cohorts and ordered her to see to the woman in the guest room. She was to see that she was fed properly and given clean new clothing to wear then he was to be summoned to speak with her.

Until such a time, Jareth with his ruthlessly compartmented mind attended other duties and forgot her.

Molly Gant woke slowly feeling something she had not felt in some long time, warm and comfortable. As she stirred she could hear the baby starting to wake as well and her slow drift took urgency. Rolling to a sitting position, she reached immediately for the child with one hand while unbuttoning her night shift with the other. Gathering the baby to her chest as she freed a breast she let is suckle as she looked around the room.

From her position on the high bed she could see the whole room, it wasn't palatial though to her eyes it seemed so. The room grey stonewalls were covered partially with tapestries depicting people on horses hunting fantastic beasts. The narrow window had a thick glass insert that was open to let in the warm spring air and a lance of sunlight that lay on the floor like a golden rug. The floor itself was smooth stone scattered with woven rugs in autumn colours. At the foot of the bed was a large low chest with a long cushion on it turning it into a sort of low bench. In one corner was a large wardrobe, whose doors stood slightly open to reveal a glimpse of hanging clothing. In the opposite corner stood a washstand and a standing mirror reflecting the image of the large four-posted bed she lay on and the door on the other side of the room. In the middle of the wall directly opposite from the bed was a large fireplace guarded with a fire screen in pierced brass in a geometric pattern. That pattern was echoed in the pattern of the curtains, which hung around the bedstead and the coverlet that she currently was sitting on.

Molly had a strange feeling of unreality. As if she had been to this place once before in a dream and perhaps was dreaming still. The only reality she could touch was the baby, which she switched to the other breast to continue feeding. She stroked the little one's soft downy head as she made deep noises of contentment at her mother. Even the constant ache of hunger in her belly really didn't compare to the contentment provided from feeding the child in her arms. Slowly her eyes drifted shut and she relaxed back against the pillows at the head of the bed. The babe in her arms started to drowse as well taking the occasional suck on her breast until finally truly asleep relaxing enough to let it pop out of her mouth.

As the baby stopped feeding Molly's lassitude faded and she slowly sat up. She placed back the baby back into the cradle, after checking the fortunately dry diaper, and buttoned the front of her nightshift. She quickly used the bedpan tucked under the washstand and made a sketchy wash at the bowl above it. Then she began to search for her clothing. Investigating the wardrobe she found clothing in beautiful light fabrics dresses and skirts and blouses embroidered with colourful stitchery. Choosing the plainest of these she buttoned herself into a skirt the colour of golden rod and an ivory blouse with a placket embroidered with a small geometrical design of interlocking squares. Finding neither shoes nor stockings, she stayed bare foot.

With her heart beating quickly she listened at the door of the room and hearing nothing she slowly opened the door. The door was somewhat squeaky on its hinges and Molly winced as she managed to pull it open enough to look out in the dim hallway. Just outside the door was a tray with a plate covered with a domed lid. Molly crouched down and slowly picked the lid up off the tray. A curl of steam escaped from the lid as it was lifted to reveal a rasher of bacon, scrambled eggs and some toasted bread. Molly looked around carefully and then picked up the whole tray and carried it into the room. After all, she reasoned, it must have been left for her since she was the only one in the room. And after caring for her so well it was doubtful that she would be poisoned at this late date.

Molly set the tray down on the bench at the end of the bed and dug into the food. The rent for the cottage had made it so that there had been little to spare to feed her. As the money she had been promised from the father of her child had never come. Not that she truly had expected it; he was young and spoiled and had very little care for any but himself and his own momentary pleasure. She gathered wood from the forest and managed to supplement the small income she made with her handwork with mushrooms and berries she was able to find. The people in the village were fair to her while she was increasing and it was only when the local priest pointed her out as a wretched sinner and an example of licentious living that requests for her hard work stopped coming in and her income fell off. When she came to childbed she managed to get to the midwife's home and was able to birth in the relative safety of her care. It was an easy birth and the baby was born healthy and beautiful. Happily she was the living image of her mother showing little of her father except when she was petulant or uncomfortable. She sent a letter to her parents telling them of the birth of their grandchild and the information that she had been named Jennifer Rose for her own grandmother.

Shortly after the birth a delivery was made to the cottage in the wood. A cart drawn by a grey gelding delivered a chest from her parents containing her own childhood mementos and such books and toys as she had in her childhood room along with this was a letter from them declaring that they had no daughter named Molly Gant and her name had been marked out of the family bible. Molly cried for the first time since she had left home with the handsome man who seduced her away from her family and then abandoned her. Molly never cried again. As time went by she found she could sell the books one by one to support herself and her daughter. The old clothing she remade into garments for the babe and by pinching here and tucking there she made do with what she was able to get by for a while.

One of the books in the chest was a book of stories hand written by the original Jennifer Rose Gant, her grandmother. Among the wonderful stories there in was the story of the Goblin King and how he came and took babies that were wished away to his kingdom in the faery lands. As Molly became more and more desperate, running out of things to sell even to the chest that her childhood had come to her in, she began to dream of the place where the babies were taken away imagining it to be a wonderful place where they were cherished and loved. Winter settled onto Molly's shoulders and she grew painfully thin. Seeing the cupboard bare of food and no work to be had and charity not for one such as she in the village. Until one nightindesperate fantasy shecalled upon the goblin king…. and he came.


End file.
